


Peacemaker

by Apostrophe (tangiblewhimsy)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Arranged Marriage, Barry's bad at solving problems, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, M/M, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-17 07:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangiblewhimsy/pseuds/Apostrophe
Summary: When the Central Kingdom is brought to its knees by the deadly armada under the control of the terrifying Captain Cold the noble houses hold a lottery to determine who among their children is to be offered as Peacemaker for marriage to Leonard Snart. Nothing goes according to plan.[I just really wanted an excuse to write an arranged marriage bodice-ripper, don't judge me.]





	Peacemaker

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated in part and in whole to jedyro, because this shit is entirely her fault.

**Peacemaker** [ _ˈpēs-mā-kər_ ]  
noun

  1. One who makes peace especially by reconciling parties at variance
  2. One half of a politically arranged marriage; a person from a defeated party offered to the victor to seal the terms of surrender1

  


* * *

  


“What about the Quick girl?”

“Jessie? She’s too young, it’d be against their laws.”

“_Rogues_ have _laws_? Surely you jest.”

“That hardly matters. Even if you could get her father to consent — which you could not — Cold would never accept her anyway.”

“Not even for the politics of it?”

“Why should he compromise? He’s in the superior position, he has nothing to lose by refusing. Save, perhaps, the artillery required to level The Central Kingdom.”

“The offer must be both politically and personally advantageous.”

“Meaning we needn’t bother with adding girls to the list of potentials at all.”

“We cannot possibly ask this of any of our young men.”

“And yet we could impose it upon one of our girls?”

Multiple voices rang out across the table as the conversation once again circled around to the beginning. Remaining quiet at his corner of the council table, Joe drank deeply from his cup and looked at each man at the table with him in turn, his gaze pausing over each face as he went. It was truly impressive how so many chickens could continue to cluck and squeal after they’d already been removed of their heads.

At the head of the table their king and commander raised a hand for silence. To his right sat his son, the Crown Prince Edward. He was far and away the youngest face at the table, but Joe would trust the man with his life before he’d trust any other at council. Eddie, as Iris was fond of calling the Prince, remained stoically silent — a bizarre but understandable change from his usual easy smiles. The young Prince was receiving one of his first difficult lessons in diplomacy: How to lose a war with grace.

“If there are to be no volunteers then selection must be done by lottery,” the current king commanded, and Joe’s gut twisted uncomfortably.

Amid murmurs of begrudging assent to the declaration, Joe looked around at his peers once more. Members of the aristocracy, guild leaders, senators, and military all, most with children and all of them with money. While they could not put just any boy up for offering, the chances were good that more than half of the sons who were eligible for the lottery would not be called. It was truly remarkable the amount of ‘luck’ the gods blessed rich parents with.

The sinking feeling that had begun in the stuffy council room a mere week after their final surrender only settled to a terrible feeling of dread and loss when the name of Peacemaker was drawn.

_Wallace West._

  


* * *

  


The house belonging to the current Marquess of Oram was modest when compared with that of the various noble families of the Central Kingdom. While many estates housed several apartments and staff to attend the families for the season, the Wests were content with a handsome home that was far enough uptown to be in a quiet neighborhood, but not so far uptown that they were outside the city limits. There was just enough land under the house to provide a roomy garden behind the house with a verdant, manicured lawn — the likes of which Bartholomew Henry Allen was tearing up as he landed hard on his side and skid a few inches in a failed attempt to bat a shuttlecock back over the net that had been erected.

“Oh no, Barry, are you alright?” Iris called from her side of the net. Her concern was tempered by the fact that she was holding a hand over her mouth to cover for her giggles, although Barry could hardly hold it against her.

“Never better!” He grunted as he rolled over onto his back before hauling himself up again. Turning to the shoulder which had made contact with the ground, Barry grimaced but managed to laugh anyway. “Do you think if I just dye the whole shirt green Bess won’t notice?”

“Even if she missed the stain the massive tear is bound to catch her eye,” Wally said as he reached out a hand to help Barry up. Barry accepted, using their combined strength to get him up off his rear. Wally was even kind enough to help brush stray grass from his back and shoulders as Barry did his best to tidy up his side and slacks.

“Yes, well... It can hardly be helped,” Barry chuckled, his face turning pink with a combination of embarrassment and laughter as he passed his racket over to Wally so that they could trade places. As he did so he inclined his head towards Wally and said in a stage whisper, “She’s starting to favor the left, so try aiming to the right.”

“I heard that!” Iris said, her eyes sparking with laughter as she moved more to the center for her starting position.

“_Someone_ has got to end your reign of terror!” Barry shot back as he shook his head and made his way towards the table that had been set out with iced tea. Barry poured himself a glass and had just begun to drink it when he turned and saw the door to the house opening to reveal first Joe and then the crown prince. Barry coughed as tea went down the wrong pipe in surprise, but he managed not to dribble all over himself as he turned and tried to motion towards his companions. “_Iris!_” He wheezed as he tried to get her attention.

“I’m a little busy, Barry,” Iris said, her brow furrowed and a confident smirk on her face as her gaze locked on the shuttlecock Wally had just served.

“Too busy for the likes of your crown prince?” Eddie announced himself playfully. Iris swung her racket and missed in her shock, very nearly losing her grip on the implement but managing to recover before she flubbed it all completely.

“Much too busy, I’m afraid,” she said with a laugh, turning a playfully annoyed look at the blond man, affection glowing from her like warmth from the sun.

“Then how about for your fiancée?” Eddie tried again as he marched onto the playing field to take her hand and kiss it.

“Well, I suppose I can make some time for him,” she said graciously, lifting his hand to kiss in return.

As the pair said their hellos, Barry had set aside his tea and welcomed Joe into the yard with a tight hug before releasing the man so that Wally could do the same.

“We didn’t expect you back today,” Barry said, looking from Joe to Eddie and back again. “Are you going to stay for dinner, or are there to be more deliberations?”

The Marquess had been at the palace with the council for nearly a week as the terms of surrender were decided upon. It was admittedly far easier to bear Joe’s absence since the ceasefire had been declared, knowing for sure that the man would for sure come home eventually. Even so, they had all missed their father (or father figure, in Barry’s case) desperately and were glad to have him back.

Despite what had been intended to be an innocuous pleasantry, Barry couldn’t help feeling as if he’d made a grave error in asking his question. Suddenly all of the light from Joe and Eddie dimmed, the joy felt at being reunited with loved ones diminished as smiles grew tight and then waned. Barry shot Iris a look of alarm and he was somewhat comforted to find that she was just as bewildered as he was. Joe tried to renew his now-sad smile, squeezing Wally’s shoulder even as he let his son out of their hug.

“No, deliberations are over,” Joe said. Even as Barry and Iris opened their mouths with simultaneous questions, Joe held up a hand to keep them at bay. “Let’s head inside, shall we? The afternoon sun is ‘bout to turn this yard into a nest of gnats.”

Barry and Iris shared a look of concern and Barry turned to see Wally was equally confused. All three of them nodded, however, and made their way up towards the house again, Joe leading the way with Wally under his arm, followed by Iris and Eddie. Barry brought up the rear, glancing out over the abandoned game of battledore, ghosts of laughter and happy distraction being carried off on the breeze. He had a sinking feeling that they were about to receive very unpleasant news.

The party resettled in the parlor and a maid saw fit to bring them refreshments. They’d been doing their best not to indulge in too many snacks what with butter and sugar rationed (along with basically everything else), but with the crown prince in attendance the cook saw fit to provide an assortment of sweets and sandwiches — the likes of which no one could seem to bring themselves to touch.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, is one of you going to do us the kindness of ending this awful tension by telling us what is going on?” Iris asked after an uncomfortable quiet had settled over the room. Eddie, bless him, actually laughed. It was a soft sound he hadn’t meant to make by the look on his face, but it also seemed to visibly relax him. Barry had his reservations about their pairing, but the more he came to see the ways in which the crown prince adored his near-sister, the more Barry became grateful that she’d found someone to love her the way she deserved.

“You said deliberations are finally over?” Wally prompted, looking between Eddie and his father.

“Yes,” Eddie confirmed with a nod, giving Iris’ hand a squeeze as she reached for his hand. Rather than explain further, however, Eddie turned his sympathetic gaze towards Joe. Barry turned and 

Joe took a deep breath, steeling himself before looking up. He met Iris’ eyes, then Barry’s, and finally Wally’s. “It’s going to be you, Wally.”

There was a beat of silence before Wally gave a bemused half-laugh. “What?”

“There were no volunteers, the decision had to be made by lottery,” Joe said, keeping his gaze solely on Wally.

“Joe, no!” Barry said, stepping away from the hearth where he’d drifted to as they’d entered the room.

“There has to be something we can do!” Iris protested, looking to Eddie with clear dismay. 

Eddie, to his credit, held her gaze as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Iris. It would be unjust to call for a re-draw simply because the outcome was not in our favor.”

“_Unjust?!_” Iris repeated in disbelief, taking her hand from the prince’s swiftly.

“What justice is possibly served by throwing a 17-year-old boy to the wolves?” Barry chimed in, and Eddie kept his eyes on Iris even as he shifted his body to address Barry.

“I cannot interfere on this. There are too many whispers of favoritism at court as it is,” Eddie explained.

“_Favoritism?_ We’re supposed to be becoming family you—”

“Barry, that’s enough!” Joe said, on his feet and in the space of a heartbeat. Barry’s throat bobbed as he physically swallowed back the remarks he’d been about to make, covering his mouth with a hand before turning away from his foster father and running both hands up into his hair with a frustrated sigh. Barry was about to try a different tactic when Wally spoke for the first time since the news had been dropped.

“It was a lottery drawn fair and square,” the young man said as he stood from where he’d been seated beside his father. Wally smoothed a hand over his waistcoat, giving the lines of his clothing a resolute tug to make sure everything was in order. It was more refined and put-together than Barry had ever seen his near-brother in their lives.

“Wally, don’t, you don’t have to do this!” Barry said as he stepped around Joe, even as the Marquess gripped his upper arm to try and stop him.

“Barry, it’s alright. Father wouldn’t allow me to serve during the war proper. This way I’ll be able to serve the Central Kingdom regardless,” Wally said, putting on a soft, sad smile.

Tears were shining in Barry’s eyes as he looked from Wally to Joe and then back again, finally pulling from Joe’s grasp to drag Wally into a hug. Barry did his best to take slow, deep breaths. It wasn’t fair to be angry at Eddie or at Joe. It wasn’t as if anyone had planned for things to go this way. It was just such a bitter disappointment after having finally begun to hope that the trials set forth by the war were finally coming to a close.

As Barry released Wally he let Joe drag him into a hug as well before crossing the room to Iris to take her hand briefly. He knelt beside her where she sat with Eddie, the apology writ large across the prince’s face. Barry knew that if there was something the man could do to change things he would.

“I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m starving!” Wally announced, a blatant attempt to change topics. This was not the last time things would be discussed — there were a multitude of details that would need to be discussed, but for the sake of their well-being he seemed invested in lightening the mood. “I’m going to go and see about whether or not there’s anything more substantial in the kitchen than sweets and sandwiches.”

“I’ll come with you!” Barry volunteered immediately, needing to get out of the stuffy sitting room. He was still having difficulty figuring out how to breathe.

Once he and Wally were in the hallway, Barry stopped his near brother as they were partway to the kitchen.

“Wally,” Barry said carefully, not wanting to accidentally make things worse. The younger man looked up at him, a defiant glint in his brown eyes that seemed to be god-gifted to every West descendant. Wally was not going to do anything that would impugn his sense of honor or pride. Giving a deep sigh, Barry shook his head. “Are you sure?” was all he could manage to ask.

To his credit, Wally actually seemed to consider the question carefully.

“No,” Wally admitted, gazing down the hall towards the sunlight creeping in through the door to the back garden. “But what other choice have we got?” Before Barry could ask any more questions, Wally offered him a reassuring (and totally forced) smile before continuing on his way to the kitchens.

_What other choice have we got?_

That was the question, wasn’t it? As Barry watched Wally’s back disappear around a corner, however, a number of solutions began coming to him. They were all bad ideas, but he supposed that there was no such thing as a good solution to a terrible problem.

  


* * *

  


It had been literal decades since Leonard Snart had set foot inside the capital city of the Central Kingdom, although this was the first time he could remember having ever come here voluntarily. There had been a number of times in his youth when he’d been apprehended for some indiscretion or another and had been transported to the capital in an attempt to bring him to justice. Eventually he’d decided to give the whole nation the slip, and he’d been certain at the time he’d left that he’d never come back.

So much for youthful certainty.

“I don’t remember it being this dirty,” Lisa said with a mild disdain.

“It’s what happens after years of rationing, starvation, and drafts,” Len said with an unsympathetic shrug of his own. He didn’t have any particularly fond memories of the city and it honestly didn’t look much different to him in its current state than it had the last time he’d seen it.

“Still, you’d think that they’d tidy up since they know people are going to be visiting.”

“Maybe they’re hopin’ fer sympathy,” Mick grunted, and Len had to look at his first mate curiously. He’d been sure Mick had been sleeping off the previous evening’s indulgences, but he supposed the man had to rouse eventually.

“Hoping for mercy from the likes of Captain Cold? Now that’s a laugh,” Lisa snorted inelegantly.

“I certainly hope they don’t think it’ll soften our demands during peace talks,” Len said as his icy gaze returned to the city outside their carriage windows.

“They don’ look like they got much fight left in ‘em,” Mick said and Len shrugged.

“You can never tell with these people,” he said.

“Do you think they’re going to try buttering you up with another Peacemaker offering?” Lisa asked. To the untrained ear her tone would seem the same disaffected, bored, and amused one she’d been using previously. Len, however, could feel the tension in her frame as she asked the question.

“The possibility is always there,” Len shrugged. He turned to his sister with a sarcastic smirk. “Why, are you hoping for another wife?”

Lisa scoffed before actually laughing. “Pass. I don’t fancy making Cisco cry unless he begs it of me.”

Len cringed internally at the unnecessary detail into his sister’s marriage before turning his attention to Mick. “How about you?”

His first mate growled, low and threatening from deep in his chest.

“For the record, that’s not a no,” Len said, although he definitely received the message loud and clear. 

As the carriage drew to a stop momentarily, Len glanced outside to see that they’d reached the gates of the palace, which were now opening for them. As the driver moved them up the path to the front of the imposing building, Len did his best to steel himself for what was to come. Negotiations were usually tedious and boring, he only enjoyed them once they were completed. He did hope, however, that he wasn’t put in a position where he had to ask his sister or his friend to take on another spouse if one was included in the terms of surrender. They’d each fallen on that sword for him once already and it would be unfair for him to ask it of them again.

Their transport slowed to a stop one more time and the footmen called to one another and moved swiftly, getting into position before finally opening the carriage door.

“Show time,” Len cocked an eyebrow at his sister before exiting the carriage. He squinted in the afternoon sunshine, his gaze scanning the face of the building even as he held out a hand for his sister to take. Lisa grasped it easily, emerging from the carriage in all of her glowing grace.

Len was dressed in a manner meant to be imposing. His finery was all black leather and navy blue wool and his cloak was lined with gray fur. He was, admittedly, too warmly dressed for the time of year and climate, but the point was to make a statement, not be comfortable. Beside him his sister would rival any princess or rank of nobility, adorned in gold, jewels, and silks woven into heir long tresses. Bringing up the rear, Len was merely appreciative that Mick was clean, his surliness making up as much of his appearance as any piece of clothing.

The trio were met by a collection of peacocks dressed as men in embroidered coats with titles Len was determined to pretend not to remember. They all thought him an ignorant brigand and he knew it, but that was really the only fun part about these kinds of meetings. Forcing nobility to acknowledge they’d been bested by a collection of thieves and criminals of common birth was viscerally satisfying for Len, petty though it may have been.

“Commodore Cold — Commander? Admiral?” The Head Peacock addressed him uncertainly. The man seemed nervous, though whether that was due to not wanting to offend him versus being actually afraid of him, Len could not tell.

“A simple ‘captain’ will suffice,” Len said, smirking openly. He wasn’t sure whether or not the man had meant to call him by his infamous nickname, but he had to admit that he enjoyed when the moniker slipped from people. It generally told him exactly how they saw him, and more often than not he’d prefer to be seen as Cold.

“Captain,” The Head Peacock nodded. “If you’ll follow me, Captain, the king wished to offer you a sampling of our hospitality before the formalities begin.”

“Hospitality?” Mick said, sounding far more alert than he had all day. “’Hospitality’ means ‘booze’.”

It wasn’t a question so much as a statement but the Head Peacock attempted to answer all the same.

“Er, yes, bu—” 

Before the Head Peacock could finish his sentence Mick had pushed his way past the welcome party and started on his way up the stairs at a determined clip.

It was everything Len could do not to give an audible snort of laughter. When the man who was trying desperately to maintain decorum turned to him, Len raised his eyebrows expectantly. As the man continued to gape at him like a fish, Len rolled his eyes and followed Mick’s lead, heading up the stairs to the palace proper and not looking back as servants and minor nobles meant to receive them scrambled. He was grateful to have brought Mick and Lisa along, if only so that this trip had the potential to be at least mildly amusing thanks to their antics.

  


* * *

  


This was a terrible idea.

This was an _illegal_ idea.

This was a potentially ruinous, horrible idea.

And yet.

No matter how Barry had turned the problem over in his mind in the weeks since Joe had come home with the news, however, he kept coming back around to this single solution.

Taking a deep breath in through his nose and letting it out through his mouth, Barry adjusted his grip on the bottle of wine and glasses in his hands. Once he’d gotten himself as calm as was possible, considering his heart was trying to beat its way out of his breast, Barry left the apartment he’d been afforded in the palace when the family had arrived. They would only be here a few hours, the Settlement Ceremony only needing to take a few moments. It would only happen, for instance, if negotiations and terms of surrender were accepted. Barry wasn’t banking on any last minute upsets to save Wally, though.

In the hall servants were bustling about at a hurried clip, doing their best not to run (as it was not becoming and could scuff the floors), but certainly making haste. The urgency only heightened the buzzing sense of adrenaline under his skin and Barry did his best to betray only the expected amount of anxiety given the position his family was in. As he got closer to the room where Wally was being prepared the number of attendants increased exponentially, until Barry realized he wasn’t going to be able to make it in the front door.

Looking about himself, Barry spied another door along the same hall and slipped inside. He wasn’t terribly familiar with the layout of the palace, but it wasn’t uncommon for rooms to be connected as suites of apartments to house visiting nobility and the members of their household. Barry followed the sounds of chaos to a door set in the wall of a small drawing room.

Opening the door carefully, Barry peeked around the edge to assess whether or not this route was a viable option. He’d hate to accidentally pop in on someone who wasn’t his brother, after all.

Standing at the center of a sea of people, elevated above them as he stood on a tailor’s stool before a mirror, was Wally looking more frustrated and miserable than Barry had ever seen him in his life. It would have been amusing were it not for the fact that Barry couldn’t be sure whether the misery was due to the commotion or due to his impending engagement. Although Barry still had doubts, Wally’s face was more than enough to spur him on.

“If he’s not ready by now he’s never going to be!” Barry announced, drawing attention away from Wally and to himself. It perhaps wasn’t the best idea, but stealth was not exactly a strength of his.

“Mister Allen,” said a valet with the stiffest posture Barry had ever seen in his life. “Do you require assistance of some kind?”

“I was hoping for a moment with Wally,” Barry said, doing his best to angle his body so he appeared to be standing properly and not hiding something in the hand not visible behind the side room door. He glanced about at the multitude of attendants in the room before looking back at the valet. “Alone, if possible.”

The valet’s dusty gray eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline at the request and for a split second Barry thought he was going to have to use even more desperate measures than what he was prepared for when Wally spoke up.

“That is most certainly possible!” Wally said, practically leaping from his tailoring stool. He dodged the outstretched hands of some of the people who had been seeing to the minute detailing along the side seam of his trousers and crossed the distance to the side room door with impressive haste.

“Young Master West, I don’t believe that now is the time--” the valet tried even as Wally followed Barry through the door, the likes of which Barry immediately closed with a satisfying _thump!_

The muffled commotion on the other side of the door had Barry giving a nervous giggle, his pulse spiking for a moment until the crowd of tailors and valets and servants and God-only-knew-who-else quieted down, seeming to accept that their jobs, for the here and now, were done.

“I swear, no one’s ever made this much of a fuss over Iris’ clothes, and she’s marrying a crown prince!” Wally huffed in frustration as he leaned down and pulled pins from the hem of his slacks. 

“I think people are just nervous,” Barry said with a shrug, unable to keep himself from feeling sympathetic.

“Yes, well, they’re welcome to join the club,” Wally said as he took a seat in a plush chair just beside an unlit fireplace.

At that, Barry’s natural smile waned. Wally didn’t appear surly or upset, but yes, he certainly seemed full of nerves. Barry could hardly blame the boy, given the circumstances. Whatever doubts he’d been having about moving forward with his plan, Barry felt them evaporate seeing his near-brother in this state. He was doing the right thing, consequences be damned.

“I figured you might be feeling that way,” Barry said, warmth returning to his smile as he sat in the chair beside Wally. “Which is why I brought something to help steady those nerves.” 

As he spoke Barry lifted the bottle of wine he’d been touting with him since he’d left his room. He chuckled as Wally’s eyes went wide in surprise. After he’d had a moment to recover, Wally blinked and narrowed his gaze at Barry in faux suspicion.

“Who’re you and what have you done with the real Barry Allen?” he asked even as a laugh began easing the tension from his shoulders.

Barry snorted at the question and shook his head as he began the process of removing the cork. “I am capable of intemperance,” Barry said primly as he poured them each a glass, handing Wally the first before picking up his own.

“But lawbreaking?” Wally said slyly, and Barry very nearly dropped his glass, fearing he’d been caught.

“W-what d’you mean by that?” Barry scoffed, sounding impossibly guilty even to his own ears. His face grew hot and he avoided Wally’s eye, only looking over to see whether or not the boy had taken a sip of his wine yet.

“I’m not old enough to partake,” Wally said, his voice easy and teasing. 

Relief washed over Barry like a wave crashing against the shore and he managed to laugh and give a shrug. He opened his mouth to speak when a knock on the door they’d escaped through drew their attention and once again Barry’s heart was in his throat.

“Young Master West, the time is drawing near,” the valet’s voice traveled through the door, and somehow the man’s disdain for this impropriety managed to bleed through the wood. Barry would have been impressed if he’d had the ability to focus on anything more than the rising urgency of his mission.

“If you’re old enough to marry off then you’re old enough to drink,” Barry said firmly.

“Too right,” Wally agreed. 

“Let’s have a toast, shall we?” Barry offered, raising his glass. Wally raised his own expectantly and Barry looked on his near-brother’s young face. He was very nearly a man, but still had so far to go. Even so, he had a courageous heart — one that Barry would never regret acting to protect. “To Heroes,” Barry said, holding his glass forward. “Battle is tragic and thrilling, but it takes more than a war to make a hero. It takes a willingness to do what is right for the people you love. You’re every bit a hero, Wally.”

Wally’s lip trembled slightly but he forced himself into a laugh as he clinked his glass to Barry’s. “Cheers, you sentimental fool,” Wally said, drinking deeply from his glass.

For his part, Barry only let the rim of his glass touch his lips. 

“I meant every word, you know,” Barry said, dispensing with the brave front for a moment. “You are a hero, Wally, and you have a good heart. You’ll be a great man someday, and I hope only that I should be permitted to see it.”

Wally’s brow knit in confusion, but even as Barry spoke he could see the way the boy was going slack. The drug was potent and fast-acting, absorbed through the tongue rather than the stomach, and Barry reached forward to take Wally’s hand from his near-brother’s limp fingers. Wally’s eyes began to close and he made a soft, plaintive sound which broke Barry’s heart. He hated that this was a tactic he had to stoop to, but it was far cleaner than anything else he’d been able to come up with.

Barry spared only a moment to make certain that Wally was fully supported in his chair before moving quickly to wedge a chair under the handle of the drawing room door. It wouldn’t stop anyone sincerely trying to break it down, but it would at least slow down anyone attempting to enter. Once that exit was taken care of, Barry moved back through the apartment to the door he’d initially entered through. He listened at it carefully for a moment, trying to discern whether or not he was hearing thudding footsteps or his own racing heart. When he was reasonably sure that the coast was (mostly) clear, and also that his time was running out, Barry opened the door as casually as possible and locked and closed it behind him quietly, praying no one had seen him. There were servants running up and down the halls still, but they were too busy to worry themselves with the likes of him, since his mere presence was nothing to be concerned for.

Barry began to walk down the hall towards the throne room, doing his best to look as casual as possible (but not so casual among a crowd of nervous people that his apparent relaxation would stand out). He had made it most of the way down the hall and was about to turn the corner when he nearly walked square into the chest of the great gray valet who had been seeing to Wally’s preparation.

The pair of them tensed, taking a full step back from the other on reflex. Barry’s hand had jumped over his heart unconsciously, the poor organ beating itself silly against his ribs due to the fright. Barry was mollified that at least the valet appeared to be similarly surprised, although the man covered for it far better than Barry did.

“Mister Allen,” The valet said, and Barry couldn’t help feeling that the man disliked him deeply. That could very well have been his own guilty conscience, though. “Is the Young Master with you?” The man glanced down the hall behind Barry curiously and Barry could swear he felt sweat begin to soak into the fibers of his jacket.

“Ah, no. He, uh, got caught up by the tailor again. Something about the line of his hems?” Barry said, praying that his upper lip was not as sweaty as it felt. The valet eyed him critically but gave a slow nod.

“I shall see to him. Good day, Mister Allen.”

“Good day,” Barry said, not even having the presence of mind to be offended by a servant dismissing him. He was too busy being grateful that his ruse had worked as he made his way around the corner. Knowing that the valet was on his way back to the room where Wally was, however, had Barry moving at a swifter pace. If he was lucky the valet would assume Wally had merely gotten cold feet and had locked himself inside of the room. Barry was very nearly to the next turn in the hall when he heard a scream from back behind him and he froze.

He hadn’t counted on chamber maids. Chamber maids had _keys_, the likes of which allowed them to easily _unlock doors_.

“GUARD!” The valet’s voice boomed down the hall and Barry didn’t wait to hear any more, he took off at a sprint.

Initially the guards moving towards the shouting paid him no heed, but then a few, rightly, seemed to find it suspicious that he was fleeing the commotion when most would be trying to investigate it.

“Excuse me, sir—” Barry ignored the man and kept running, praying that his lack of acknowledgment would read as haughty dismissal and not complete and utter terror. Unfortunately, his prayers were not answered.

“You there! Stop! I said stop!”

Barry pushed himself into a flat run, his long legs shooting him up the labyrinth of halls and corridors. He darted around servants and roaming nobles, doing his best not to lose any speed. As he grew closer to the throne room he could hear voices echoing off of the chamber’s walls, anticipation thick in the air.

“If these terms are amenable to you, Captain—”

The king’s voice echoed through the halls, although Barry could hardly hear it over the crash of his own pulse in his ears.

“—then we invite you and your sister and your companions to join us—”

Barry threw himself under the arms of a guard trying to capture him, stumbling but managing not to fall. He could see the steps to the entryway. All he had to do was make it there.

“—so that we might determine the final details.”

There were, astoundingly, no guards. Barry supposed they’d all be drawn away by the commotion he’d caused and were now behind him. He wasn’t about to question his good fortune, leaping his way up the stairs two at a time.

Or rather, he attempted to leap. His toe caught on one of the steps and he fell painfully against the stairs. Sharp pain shot through his shins and knees but he pushed through it to get on his feet again. He could hear the guards who’d been in close pursuit, he didn’t want to risk looking back to see exactly how close they were to him, didn’t want to know how close he was to failure. As he reached the top landing of the stairs he heard several pairs of feet already ascending and he shot forward on aching legs, heedless of where the court was at in the ceremony. 

The entrance reserved for the introduction of prominent guests to court was shrouded by heavy velvet curtains. Barry didn’t even pause to think before throwing the curtains back and bursting into the throat room, a collective gasp erupting from the audience gathered to witness the signing of the peace treaty even as a guard finally managed to clamp a hand around his elbow, hauling him up short.

“Quiet!” The king called over the whispering nobles, their collective chatter loud enough to force their king to speak his command a second time. “I said _quiet!_” This time, the room settled as bidden. Suddenly the room was so quiet Barry could hear every ragged breath he was sucking in, although he did his best not to gasp and sputter.

“Barry, what—” The prince began in utter confusion only to be cut off by his father holding up a hand to silence him.

The king’s gaze landed squarely on Barry and Barry did his best to stand up straight despite being decidedly retained on either side now that the guards had caught up to him.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” The king asked.

The guard to Barry’s left opened his mouth, but Barry spoke faster, “Begging your pardon, your majesty, I did not mean to interrupt,” Barry said, grateful to whatever god existed that his voice didn’t shake. “I feared only that I’d be late, as is my wont, and now I see I’m dreadfully early.”

Chuckles broke out among the crowd, some nervous giggles and others genuinely amused. The fact his wit had gone over well would have normally pleased him, but the king had been among those who had not laughed.

“And what, pray tell, did you think you were going to be late for?” The king asked, and Barry could swear the man had to have had the same governess as Joe, for his paternal interrogation techniques were nigh identical.

This was it. Barry swallowed around his nerves and answered as though this should be common knowledge and he was kindly reminding His Majesty of what was already planned.

“My presentment, Your Majesty,” Barry inclined his head. “Per the terms of settlement and surrender.”

No one laughed. The king’s gaze blazed with fury, for Barry was taking a mighty risk making the king look a fool before an already humiliating defeat at the hands of what amounted to little more than bandit kings. To admit that this was not, in fact, exactly what had been planned would be to admit a complete lack of control over his people. He had no choice but to play along.

“Is there a _problem_ here?”

Barry couldn’t help himself, his eyes snapped immediately to the interloper. The man was tall, nearly as tall as Barry, and the heavy cloak he wore made him appear broad across the shoulders and chest. The light coming down from windows in the vaulted ceiling shone off the silvering streaks in what was likely once dark hair, and his mouth was twisted up into a sarcastic smirk — the likes of which came across sharp as a knife when paired with the hard, piercing blue eyes trained right on Barry. For the first time since entering the room he was glad for the guards holding him, for he wasn’t sure he could have kept from visibly shivering had he not been restrained as he was.

After a beat of silence the king answered with another sideways glance at Barry. “No problem here, Captain. As our young interloper has said, he is inadvertently early and managed to preempt his proper introduction.”

The king raised a hand, waving off the guards who had been gripping Barry with bruising force. Barry managed not to stumble when permitted to stand under his own power again, straightening his coat with as much dignity as he could muster. He was not going to be anywhere near as tailored or made-up as Wally had been, but he’d somehow managed not become too disheveled in his flight. There was absolutely nothing to be done for his hair or face, however, of that he was certain. He wasn’t terribly bothered by his appearance, however, as he realized that the king had addressed the man with piercing eyes as _Captain_. Which meant that the man continuing to smirk and stare at him openly was none other than Captain Cold.

“Well then,” Cold drawled, “By all means, _Scarlet_. Introduce yourself properly.”

It took Barry a moment to realize he’d been spoken to directly and his cheeks flushed hotly when he realized he’d just been called _Scarlet_ like some affectionate pet name in front of the entire court. Doubtless the heat in his face was the reason for the label, but there was nothing to be done for it. It wasn’t as though Barry could will his blood to stay away from his face (or any other part of his body, for that matter).

Barry looked to the king in askance and the monarch nodded, which Barry took to mean that he should do as he was asked.

“Yes, my lord,” Barry said before sweeping into a bow that was only the tiniest bit wobbly on his aching, tired legs. Even with his head inclined, however, he could not tear his gaze from Cold’s. “I am Bartholomew Henry Allen, ward of the Marquess of Oram and member of the House of West. I humbly present myself for your consideration as a Peacemaker to ensure the longevity and strength of any treaty signed today.”

The room was silent as every human being present held their breath. Barry watched with increasing anxiety as the corner of Cold’s smirk twitched almost imperceptibly. Before Barry could try to analyze what it meant, however, Cold was on his feet and crossing the room to him in long, sure strides. Barry pulled up to stand straight again, not having expected to be rushed.

Cold came close enough that when Barry breathed in the salty scent of sea air drifted to him from the man’s clothing. Barry noticed that he was shorter up close, not by much, but by an inch or two which meant he was looking down into the warlord’s eyes instead of up — and Barry could admit that provided him a pleasant feeling of strength and superiority, however shallow. It made it easier for him not to blink as Cold sized him up, beginning to walk a circle about him as though inspecting a piece of cattle for sale. Barry’s throat bobbed as he swallowed tightly, willing himself not to mess things up. 

Cold finally came back around to the front, meeting his eyes again before turning to look at the king and his retinue seated at the table. Finally the man gave a great shrug of his shoulders. “He’ll do,” he said simply before returning to the table and taking his seat. “Now let’s work out the rest of the details, shall we?”

“Y-yes, quite,” the king said with a nod, managing to catch himself before too much of his surprise let on. Clearing his throat he spared Barry one last glance. “You may go now, Mister Allen.”

“T-thank you, Your Majesty,” Barry stammered, managing to make himself bow before turning on his heel to leave. It wasn’t until he was through the heavy curtains again that it hit him. 

He was now betrothed to Captain Cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1This is not an actual definition, this is just a definition I am using for the purposes of this story and its world-building. It's based on an old phrase I once heard which went something like "Another word for Wife is Peacemaker." This tradition and all traditions described in this story are purely fictitious and are not intended to represent any real cultural traditions.
> 
> Also, hi friends. Remember how I said I wanted to do Drabble a Day again only really stick with it this time? Well, I didn't, but that's because I have been writing every day this month on a bunch of other projects. One is Chapter 3 for the HartFlash fic I started ages ago, and another is this eventual monstrosity (no, really, just wait). I came up with the idea for this story kind of around the same time as Life is a Long Song, but I told myself I had to post the HartFlash chapter first and then... Well, then life happened and next thing you know it's 3 years later and neither thing was done. What're you going to do?
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this, it's going to be a wild ride from start to finish!


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